I Know What I Did This Summer

The change of the seasons is almost like the changing of the guard as we transition, with a vengeance

here in the Pacific Northwest, from summer to fall. I have a fondness for autumn, especially since my life has lined up with it, giving a last of gasp of mortality before turning into the dead of winter. (That's a cheery goddamn thought, isn't it?)  Fall equinox is a death knell! Huzzah!

The summer of '19 had its ups and downs, the former making in the the final throes of August which suited me just fine. It gave me something to look forward to as opposed to peaking too early. (Insert your joke here) Going out with a bang (watch it) leaves more a lasting impression especially since my memory has begun to buffer on a regular basis. Lately I find myself lost in the wilderness searching for the right word only to realize I'm headed in the wrong direction, a scary experience for someone who considers himself a writer.  I become obsessed over it to the point of pure stagnation.The other day, I found I couldn't recall the word "accountability", though, it wasn't really my fault.

I managed to treat myself to a trip to an honest to goodness cinema to catch the only movie I gave two craps about this summer, ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD. I've told others that there are films I feel were made especially for me and this certainly fits the bill.  Because I am becoming more and more jaded over time thanks to the deluge of, well, everything, i almost took a pass on this, actually believing I would end up disappointed and more pissed off the world than I already am. Had the great Tarantino lost his touch? His previous messterpiece, THE HATEFUL EIGHT, seemed to lean in that direction, so in love with his own voice that he couldn't hear anything else like an objective criticism. I almost didn't make it through that one and was actually sorry I did. So when this film was announced, it seemed that QT might be in an endless meta-loop of nostalgia and no substance except a bauble here and a bauble there.

I was wrong. Sorry. Let me emphasize that point.

I WAS FUCKING WRONG!

Tarantino's wacky, revisionist Valentine to Hollywood and the Stars is undoubtedly his most heartfelt work, a film pulled right out of his bone marrow. Over indulgent, almost blissfully so, ONCE UPON A TIME is all over the place and laser focused at the same time. As someone who gets probably 98% of the references contained within, I didn't mind the construct of this movie and in fact, reveled in it because this is my wheelhouse as well as Quentin's. His vision of 1969 Hollywood is fact and fiction, not fighting each other, but teamed up like Leonardo DiCaprio's Rick Dalton and Brad Pitt's Cliff Booth, in the best buddy movie tradition. When it all culminates in a uber-violent slapstick melee, transitioning into a fairy tale happy ending no one has thought possible, Tarantino made me a believer again, making ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD something I will revisit and relish again and definitely again.

Because watching a film in an actual cinema is normally the biggest event of my pathetic life, I am pleased as punch to tell you that it didn't make the top spot this year. For a change, we took a much needed and appreciated trip to the Oregon coast for a few days, thanks to the overly generous and loving efforts of our family to celebrate my wife's landmark birthday. Nestled in the warming embrace of this family reunion, these few days in the sweet little coastal town of Lincoln City felt like two weeks and gave us a renewed lease on life without raising the rent. When the foundation of such an event is built on pure love, one only had to submit and soak in the joy.

There were a few defining moments. For myself, as I gazed longingly at the surf while standing on the beach that lay right across the street, a realization hit me in the noggin like a misdirected seagull. Where the hell have I been? I love the goddamn beach, ocean, sand, the whole megillah. Why have I denied this pleasure to myself when it is only a little over an hour away from where I love? Because I'm a dope. When I first arrived in Oregon twenty years, we took a trip to Seaside and I remarked in the snottiest of all snotty tones, "Well, it's not like California. The waves don't crash and the surf is constant. It's just white noise." Guess what, idiot? You don't live in California. You live here.  So what if it's different? Who are you-Sheldon Cooper? This ridiculous stipulation has kept me from enjoying life as I should. I've visited quite a few times since that first trip, but not often enough and certainly not in the last five years. What a jerk. It was quite refreshing to pull my head out of my ass at that moment. The view's better.

The main takeaway was the cluster of grandchildren, basking in their youth and exuberance as only youth can> The one year old, Athena, our fiercely adorable warrior child, sitting in her high child, lording over us all. At one point I fed her a small piece of naan bread and she returned the gesture, feeding me as well. That was an eye-soaker, that's for sure. The two older cousins, Sebastian the Eldest and Aefa the Brave, were inseparable from the moment they saw each other again. On our last evening, we lit a fire on the beach. The two of them walked toward the surf at sunset, hand in hand, an image forever chronicled by Aefa's paparazzi papa. These darn kids made me understand that maybe we're not headed into the abyss after all. We may strive, but we're going to thrive. The future looks bright in their hands, held tightly to one another as they headed down the beach.

Saying goodbye the next day was difficult, but inevitable. Lots of hugs and kisses and platitudes of gratitude until we all went our separate ways, the end of an incredible time with the best people I know or ever will know.

After they pulled away, I hopped into our VW Beetle and started the engine...or did I? Nope. The check engine light came on and here we were, the last to leave and now stuck.

Of course. The universe giveth, the universe taketh...

No. Not this time. I tried the ignition again and it turned over. Yes, the CE light stared me in the face, but I took a chance and took us home. It turned out to be minor, however nerve-wracking. It's called life, pal. For a change, I rolled with this punch that, fortunately, turned out to be merely a glancing blow.

If I get out of my way, maybe I can grab life by the hand and walk into the sunset. And that's what I intend to do.

And I Smell Like One Too

Some musings on this year's birthday extravaganza (aka CherneyFest 2013)

In my new guise of societal vigilante, I have taken it upon myself to change the moronic phrase that never pays "At the end of the day" to the more aesthetically pleasing  "In the middle of the night". For one thing, it's more specific. "At the end of the day" is vague and ultimately lazy. At the end of the day-when? Sunset? Bedtime? Midnight? Last call? As an eternally nocturnal creature, "In the middle of the night" suits me just fine. It must be my Hungarian roots. We're basically night people, don't you know. And "In the middle of the night" is sexy. Again, it's the Hungarian in my blood.  We're basically sexy, don't you know. "At the end of the day" is bland, suggesting a warm glass of buttermilk. Bluch.

ABC's new food competition show THE TASTE is a waste, both of air time and my time. Normally, I would just write this off without another thought were it not for the unfortunate participation of Anthony Bourdain. Sad. This is the kind of show he would have torn a new asshole. Now the asshole's on the other foot. The major networks can't mange to make a decent food related show. it's all about the cable. THE TASTE may not be as putrid as that bottom feeder known as THE CHEW, but for someone I admire as much as Bourdain, this is a kick in the reputation. Hopefully, the rest of his career won't be reduced to a series of snarky sound bytes like this. It won't negate his previously excellent work, but it doesn't make for smooth sailing into the sunset. Sure, everybody's a whore, but I hold Bourdain up to a higher standard because he's basically responsible for raising the bar in the first place.

(UPDATE 6/6/13: Bourdain rebounded with his new CNN show PARTS UNKNOWN, just a retitle of  NO RESERVATIONS. This is what he does best. Unfortunately, THE TASTE has been inexplicably renewed for a second season, even though its ratings were in the toilet. Hopefully, Tony will not return. This ain't for him and frankly, leaves a bad TASTE in the mouth of one his biggest supporters, namely me.)

FOX's THE FOLLOWING was one of the best pilots I've seen in quite awhile, genuinely creepy and downright jump out of your seat scary. I wonder about its limited premise and how it can extend into a series. Too many shows like this are getting green-lit and when the major selling point reaches a logical conclusion, it flounders. (example: last year's Ashley Judd show MISSING or even AMC's THE KILLING) Why not just make it a limited-series and be done with it? Of course, it could end up like the second season of Ryan Murphy's show, AMERICAN HORROR STORY: THE KITCHEN SINK.

(UPDATE 6/6/13: A good pilot does not a series make. This show grew stupider with each episode and made me angry at myself for recommending it at all.)

A birthday gift for myself is a trip to the movies, an annual tradition I've kept for the past twenty years. This year's film was none other than Quentin Tarantino's bugfuck crazy-ass spaghetti western/blaxspoitation mix tape DJANGO UNCHAINED. Here is a list of why this was made for yours truly: The retro Columbia Pictures logo, the stylized opening credits, NEW Ennio Morricone music, Christoph Waltz. Jamie Foxx, Jim Croce's "I Got a Name", Big Daddy and his gang of "hoods", Leonardo Di Caprio and Samuel L. Jackson at his Samuel L. Motherfucking Jacksonest. Sam has been unjustly overlooked by most critics and this awards season even though he is as compelling as either Waltz or Di Caprio in this film. I can only assume that this is a casualty of the PC backlash DJANGO is receiving. his portrayal of a duplicitous house slave must have really upset the rank and file. Calling tarantino and his film irresponsible is missing the point. He's working with two bastardized genres to begin with and then propels everything so far over the top that it lnds on the other side. There's another perspective from that angle and if you're not tall enough for this ride, you shouldn't try to take it. He's dealing with themes within this framework that are otherwise getting swept under the rug. The end result tries to fulfill a revenge fantasy and there's no sensitivity involved in that sort of conclusion. At least it's an attempt to right a wrong, however cartoonish. That's his canvas or are you dopes unaware that Tarantino's been around for the last twenty years? Wake up and watch the blood spurt. Or don't. DJANGO has some drawbacks including a clunky final third and the lack of decent female characters, but this was a birthday present for me and I thank Quentin for it.

I want to give myself major props for meeting my own personal deadline (with hours to spare) in completing the final draft of my first new book for this decade. Hooray for me. It's only about goddamn time. But, instead of kicking my ass for procrastination once again, I think I'll just kiss it instead. Well done, me bucko. Smooch. More info to come on said book du Chern,so stay tuned. I won't start the pimping here. Besides, I'm at the end of the blog. I'd be burying the lead.

So happy stinkin' birthday to me.

Just how old am I? Nunya. Let's just say that I went to high school with dirt. I was a senior when he was a sophomore.

Summer Has Left the Building

Well, that's the end of that. Labor Day has come and gone. Now is the time to put your white shoes

away for another year 'cuz summer is outta here. The cinema was chock full o' the usual crap, lotsa toys made into disposable garbage for the landfill, but I was able to mine a few nuggets here and there. Among them:


STAR TREK-Totally worth the dollar admission I paid to see it in second-run. This re-booting of another franchise didn't exactly set my phasers on stun. As TREK movies go, it ranks very high, the gold standard (well, gold plated anyway) still being the great WRATH OF KHAN, but I find it hard to get to worked up about yet another TREK movie. It turned out to be a competent, entertaining piece of work that I have trouble recalling anything memorable or significant beyond Zachary Quinto's Spock. The rest of the cast were all adequate enough, but I find it hard to believe Paramount will be able to reassemble this cast intact beyond the next installment. A good effort, but honestly, what's all the hub-bub, bub?

And what the hell is all the backlash against THE NEXT GENERATION all of a sudden? TNG was a better TV show than the original, but the original had better theatrical films. Maybe if Nicholas Meyer directed a TNG film instead of Jonathan Frakes, they would have had something.

DRAG ME TO HELL-Sam Raimi's attempt to recapture his EVIL DEAD credo after spending the last decade in mega-blockbuster film making kind of flounder, albeit with lots of the gory slapstick for which he is most famous. It's too bad he didn't totally commit to the project, relying too much on Hollywood bombast, dragging his picture out about 15 minutes too long. Star Allison Lohman should get the Good Sport of the Year award for what Raimi put her through, but actually the film would have benefited from a female Bruce Campbell, an actress that could go way over the top and back again. Ultimately, a good future rental with plenty of decent sight gags-both literally and figuratively.

INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS- Once again, Quentin Tarantino proves that there is nothing more he loves than the sound of his own voice, something that worked so much against him on his last work, the wretched DEATH PROOF, that he almost lost all creditability with this one singularly horrible film. This time, however, he returns to form with his crazy-ass combination OF THE DIRTY DOZEN and CINEMA PARADISO. This is almost his bloody valentine to film itself, a geek forever sampling works from the world cinema while trying, sometimes in vain, to maintain his voice. Sometimes, his tributes take me completely out of the film, like much of the Ennio Morricone music, mainly because I know what movies they came from initially. And the theme from the CAT PEOPLE remake...so far out of left field that I was actually enchanted when I should have been sneering. Quentin...you big goof. I wanted more of the Basterds themselves. I think they were short-changed. How about a little scalping tutorial or some kind of training for these guys? I also would have welcomed a battle scene. Tarantino can stage action beautifully, but he's kinda stingy here except for the superb climax. I could have done without the Mike Myers cameo also. Brad Pitt? He's one of the best as far as I'm concerned. When he plays goofy, as BURN AFTER READING or TRUE ROMANCE, he's aces in my book. His reading of "BONE JORNO" had me rolling. The breakout stars have to be Melanie Laurent as Shoshanna/Emmauel Mimieux-beautiful, sad and mighty damn fierce and of course the much-heralded Christoph Waltz as Hans "That's a bingo!" Landa, the best villain of the new millennium. With his giant head, Waltz looks like a real-life Gerry and Sylvia Anderson puppet. Shortcomings aside, 2/12 hours went by like nothing. I actually wanted more. In the end, Quentin got a bingo.

DISTRICT 9- I'll gladly jump on this bandwagon to proclaim Neill Blomcamp's sci-fi film the best movie of the summer and of 2009 thus far. Imagine STARSHIP TROOPERS (satire included)
mashed together with Cronenberg's remake of THE FLY in the framework of a South African version of THE OFFICE and you've got yourself just a fabulous piece of film making, miles above the stench of Michael Bay's TRANSFORMERS or GI JOE: THE RISE OF CRAPPY SUMMER FILMS. Sharlto Copley is brilliant as the weaselly little bureaucrat who is unfortunately transformed into an alien, making him more human in the process. An exciting, funny, sometimes gross and finally heart-breaking work, DISTRICT 9 is divine. That's right. I said it.

And once again, I treated myself by watching DISTRICT 9 at the Roseway Theater, the best venue in the Portland area. Beautifully crisp digital projection and superb sound helped push this baby over the top for me. This was a 50 mile round trip from my home that I didn't mind at all.

Sometimes you have to go the extra mile and that's the fact, Jack.

So Long,Springtime

As springtime rolls to a close on this Memorial Day weekend, here are some thoughts that are random.

Conspiracy Theory of the Week
Rosie O’Donnell is being paid by the far right to discredit the left. Honestly, is someone this wretchedly obnoxious on purpose? Now that she’s no longer on The View, maybe if Michael Moore shaved and wore a wig, nobody would notice the difference. But then again, there's that voice... If he can imitate the sound of a flamingo being tossed into a wood chipper, he'll have it made.

Paris Hilton is going to jail for approximately three weeks at last count. Maybe her fellow inmates will stage a break and insist she play along. Then when they’re eventually caught down the line, Paris will be forced to do hard time. It’s fun to dream, isn’t it?

At what point did “No problem” replace “You’re welcome” in our vernacular? I’ve found this occur particularly in the service industry. Let’s say I ask a wait person for a glass of water and when they do, I thank that person. How is it proper for the response to be “No problem”? This implies there somehow might have been a problem to begin with. It’s your job, mallethead. Does this bother anyone else but me? It does? You’re welcome.

Grindhouse turned out to be as big of a blast as I expected. I had the best time watching this ode to my drive-in theater days. Though the box-office was mediocre, it has the potential to live a second life as a party DVD. The full impact of the experience is of course in the cinema since some of the intentional gags such as the “missing” reels and the “scratches” on the prints are alien to home viewers. Quentin Tarantino has added additional footage to his segment Death Proof for the Cannes Film Festival and a possible second try solo run in theaters. Hopefully, he’s improved his film since his work was the weakest of the double bill with Rober Rodriguez’s Planet Terror. Quentin actually strayed from the original concept and wrote a vapid, empty and ultimately boring set-up to a grand finale which, fortunately, kicked royal ass. Kurt Russell deserved better, giving his best performance in years and obviously having the time of his life. And the new love of my life is stunt actress Zoe Bell. Try to catch Grindhouse in its original condition. if oyu’re as bent as I am, a better time in the movie theater you will not have. If you’re really lucky, one the few drive-ins left in the country will pick it up. Fill up the ice cooler with some tasty beverages and enjoy the ride.

In honor of his 100th birthday, I offer my favorite John Wayne moment:
In The Sons of Katie Elder, bad guy George Kennedy is sadistically dunking blacksmith John Doucette’s head in the water trough. The Duke sneaks up behind him and yells, “Hey!” Kennedy turns as the Duke backswings an axehandle right across the puss, dropping George like a bag of dirt.
Ten seconds of film that will live forever in the cinema of my mind’s eye.

Happy Birthday, Marion!